


A Buttercup Blooming

by Capucine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 18th Century, Child Abuse, Love/Hate, Magic, Multi, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Noncon Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3832192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mongolia finds an abandoned little Canada on the Steppes. Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, France and England tangle over the disappearance, and war looms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Opening

**Author's Note:**

> It's a short beginning, but I hope you like it.

It wasn’t every day that Mongolia was about in his herds and found a little blond-haired child. Yes, there were blond (and even very pale) Mongolians, but they were rare and besides which, this one was improperly attired for the steppes.

He walked up to the child slowly, starting to say, “Hello, little one. It’s all right; I’m not here to hurt you.”

The little one’s face turned towards him, alarm across his features. His eyes were purple, and his skin looked as though it was supposed to be pale, but instead there was a huge sunburn across his face. His pink little tongue stuck out of his mouth, uselessly wiping along his lips, which were cracked and dry. When he saw Mongolia, he quivered.

Now, this one was clearly not used to being in a herd of animals, because he was looking about like they were all monsters, and clutching his side; if Mongolia was correct, he’d probably been stepped on or kicked.

Mongolia edged forward, saying softly, “It’s all right. It’s all right, little one.”

The little one’s face crumpled up, and he began to croak-cry, holding out his arms to be picked up. This made Mongolia swoop in, picking up the child and immediately realizing he was a country like him. Still, how had a European nation ended up in the steppes? It wasn’t exactly a short trip to reach this area, and he hadn’t seen any other Europeans or nations, period.

He gently rubbed the little one’s back, murmuring to him. The little one sobbed his heart out in gasping croaks, as though Mongolia was his savior.

Mongolia headed back to his ger, and got some water for the poor parched nation. The little one drank greedily, as though he was sure that at any moment, someone would come along and take the water from him.

“Can you speak?” Mongolia asked softly, pushing the nation’s silky blond hair out of his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Ca-na-da,” he whimpered out, in a little voice that suggested he hadn’t spoken for a while. He promptly climbed into Mongolia’s lap, clinging to his clothes. He was very warm, despite his white little dress-thing which did not look like it would do much good in keeping him warm. He was still shaking a little.

Mongolia gently petted his head, wondering what to make of him. How had such a young nation made his way all the way to the steppes of Mongolia? No one hardly knew about the place, it felt like at times. Now that he was part of China, he hardly had the reach or the power he’d had before. In fact, he was fairly poor. “Are you hungry?” he asked, but all he got was a feverish whimper.

He had better figure out what was wrong with this nation, and fast.


	2. The why

“England!” 

The door slammed open, and England fought his way out of his blankets. “What the hell, frog? I was sleeping!”

But France stalked over to the bed, and seized him by the front of his nightshirt. “Where the hell is Canada?!”

It was like waking up way too soon, with pillowy imprints on the cheeks and dreams still wafting about his mind. England groaned, and pried off France’s hands. “What are you talking about?”

France stood impatiently by the bed, and he was in a housecoat, having apparently not bothered getting dressed before heading into England’s room. Perhaps keeping him about the house had been a mistake; he’d done nothing but criticize since he showed up. “What do you think I'm talking about, rosbif? Canada! My territory! Where is he?!”

England yawned, and stretched. “The little quiet one? It's interesting that America's grown so big and he has yet to.”

“I don't find that interesting right now,” France said dangerously. “Where is Canada?”

England glanced about, checking what was on his chest of drawers and nightstand. Good, nothing heavy or sharp. “How should I know? He's your colony, keep better track of him.”

France was glaring. “I know it was you. Who else would make an innocent child vanish?”

“Certainly not what you were talking about last night,” England said with a smirk, remembering what had happened the night before. There was only one reason he ever liked France around, and that reason had to do with being in a bed but certainly not sleeping.

France glared harder. “Please leave that out of this, or I will begin being unkind.”

France could be quite cruel when he chose, so England started thinking about the possible things that could have happened to Canada. Last night had been clear, no alcohol, no anything that should mess his memory up. “Mm, maybe he wandered off?”

“He does not wander off. He is a tiny child, not a dog,” France said, words sharp. “Now, if you don't give me a straight answer--”

“How should I know what _your_ colony did? It's not my fault you don't keep a good eye on him!” England got out of his bed, sure that the time to sleep was over. He could feel the chilly morning air against his legs, and started to fumble with the chest of drawers.

France snapped, “Tell me where he is! You and I both know you're quite capable of this!”

That was when it came flooding back to England. Three days ago, it had been three days ago... he had cast a spell to get the thumb-sucking child out of his study. And now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen him since. A smirk came onto his face as he realized that France hadn't noticed Canada was missing until just now, even though it'd been three days ago. “Well, I do seem to recall; I sent him out of my study.”

“Where did you send him? You didn't leave him outside by himself, did you?” France said; his tone reflected his growing worry.

“Hm. Not sure.” This made England a little worried, but Canada wasn't his, so it wasn't a big deal. “He could honestly be anywhere right now.”

France froze. “You mean he could be somewhere else in town...” but he must have seen England's face, because his teeth clenched and he ground out. “Good god, you mean anywhere literally. What have I told you about your damn magic?!”

“He wouldn't leave; he's awfully noisy when he's sucking his thumb--”

“And you couldn't pick him up and move him?!” 

“Too busy.”

Maybe England should have expected the fist to the back of his head, as he put on breeches; he nearly collided with the chest of drawers, and turned to see France with a face reddened with anger.

“You—you idiot! You find him right now!” France looked quite willing to hit him again.

“Now, now, dear,” England said, pushing on his chest with his index finger, “It wouldn't do for the colonies to see us fighting again, now would it? Besides, Canada's not worth that much--”

“I'll punch you again if you keep saying things like that!” France snapped back.

“Tell you what,” England said with a smirk, “You convince me to search for him, and I will find him. Yes, with my magic. Until then, I would refrain from hitting me, if I were you.”

England knew Canada was in a region with people; surely he would be fine until England got what he wanted.

France clenched his teeth, realization seeming to bloom in his eyes: he knew he could never find Canada without England.

“I'll leave you to think about it,” England said, and he headed for the door.

France growled at him, “If anything happens to him--”

“Relax, he's a nation; they are particularly hardy.” And with that, England left the room, wondering what colonies he could pry from France's hand with this. He did not count on how big this could get, and he did not think much on what measures France might take; for now, he was greedy.

He smiled to himself. France would be willing to things of a different nature as well, he was sure...


	3. The Surprise

Mongolia gently stroked Canada’s hair. The child looked about two, and Mongolia was already worrying about when he got hungry. He’d fallen asleep on him, thumb shoved into his mouth, and he whimpered whenever Mongolia moved.

But the problem was, Mongolia was not a woman. And he needed a woman to feed this child. His sister was to the South, but she was a long distance away, and Canada would be hungry long before then.

Canada whimpered again; he must have moved by accident. Mongolia was not all that used to long periods of inactivity, though winter could be accurately described that way. Still, he wanted to comfort Canada, so he stayed put.

It would have to be mare’s milk; not nearly as good as a human breast to suckle, because it wasn’t nearly as comforting and that was half the point, but he had to make do with what he had.

He gently awakened Canada, saying, “Hello. I’m going to feed you now.”

Canada just clung to him like he was a lifeline.

He managed to get a bottle, fill it with mare’s milk, and tilt the thing in Canada’s mouth. It had no nipple, and he worried Canada would not understand how to eat from it, but Canada got it. He sucked away happily, downing the mare’s milk with a contented burp at the end.

But then he started grabbing at his bottom, speaking words that made no sense to Mongolia. He was speaking nation-tongue, but his baby voice garbled all the sounds; he wasn’t old enough to make it clear.

Mongolia soon figured it out; the crazy Westerners had covered his bottom half in a piece of cloth. He was covered in excrement.

He wiped him off and set him free—without the piece of cloth. In the good weather, children his age could go about bottomless.

He quickly figured out why the nation wore the piece of cloth, though—Canada started peeing everywhere, and it was only quick thinking that got him outside before he got the sleeping area.

Mongolia watched him toddle around. Canada was way behind children his age; no Mongolian child would still be peeing wherever he pleased at this age. And there was no way that Mongolia could clean this piece of cloth every time Canada peed or had other functions. So, for now, the child was outside, sitting on his rear and scratching it at the same time.

Mongolia went inside the ger, and considered his options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mongolian children of the time nursed until somewhere between two and four or longer; also, Mongolian children were taught to control where they peed at about six months of age (if my sources are to be believed). It's very common, even nowadays, for no diapers to be used and the child to simply be allowed to roam bottomless. Not in the city, though.


	4. The Plan

France paced, ranting to Netherlands, his rather unwilling confidant. “He's stolen my colony, my _child_ , and he wants me to barter! _Barter!_ Who does England think he is?!”

“The guy you fuck,” Netherlands said, looking rather like he thought France should be paying him to listen. He put tobacco into his pipe without so much as blinking, lighting it and letting out a puff of smoke.

France groaned. “Netherlands, you are very little help right now.”

“Then go to Lux or Belgium. Or better yet, Monaco. Far away from me.” Netherlands let out a practiced puff.

It really wasn't fair. England had all his brothers to fall back on, and while France definitely had his family, such as Picardy, to talk to, he didn't want them to realize he had lost the precious babe they all coddled. If they realized that his trysts with England had taken the babe from them, even if they weren't around him all the time, they would do something, and since it was unsure what that something would be, France didn't want to take a chance.

“But I have to figure out how to get him back! He could be anywhere in the world! You know the world, and you know England; where do you think he would send him?”

Netherlands gave him a disdainful look. “I don't know the entire world, though I am a great explorer. No one knows the entire world. And I don't know England as well as you seem to think. He could have dropped him anywhere from the icy North to the West Indies. Anyway, it's not my concern.”

France felt ready to tear his hair out. “But--”

“Look, just fuck the guy, okay? You'll get him right back. Whore yourself out, and it'll be over.”

France's face wrinkled in disgust. Yes, he had frequent sex, but the very idea of 'whoring himself out' made his insides crawl. The thing with England was complicated, but at least whenever they had sex, both of them wanted it. France did not do sex he did not want. “I would rather eat bollocks.”

That made Netherlands smile, just a tad. “So, what are you going to do?”

France thought, and thought hard. “Threaten something of his,” he finally said, making a fist and putting it into his hand in realization. “The question is, what? Who or what does he hold most dear?”

“You got me,” Netherlands grumbled, letting out another puff of smoke.

But France had a plan now, and one he intended to execute, whether or not it led to something bigger.

He was not a whore, and he was not a fool to be messed with by a smaller nation, especially not England. England would have to learn to understand that.


	5. The Bump

Canada was a handful. Mongolia knew the child was fairly quiet and still suffering from his sunburn and whatever else he'd acquired wandering the steppes alone, but Mongolia wasn't sure what to do with him. Not even taught to control his bowels or bladder—there was a defective parent evident here.

Still, he sat outside with him, watching him babble and bring over various pieces of grass to give him.

It was easy to spot people from a long distance away, and Mongolia noticed quickly that there was someone on the horizon—not another nomad, not some herd of animals or a friendly face. No, he recognized this figure from a long ways away by now, and he groaned to himself.

Whatever China wanted, it couldn't be good. Whatever he would think of the child, it could not be good for Canada. Mongolia would have to risk the bedding to put him inside, and hope that China did not call on his hospitality. Anyone else, anyone at all, he would invite inside for tea; China did not deserve that kindness in his mind.

The sky was pure blue, too beautiful for the day to be ruined by China. But Mongolia hustled to get Canada inside before China got close enough to make him out. He wrapped the tot in a blanket and sat him as far away from the center as possible.

Then he sat down outside, and waited.

China arrived, bright silk clothes like a banner announcing his presence. His hair was silky-looking, shimmering in the bright sun, and his posture oozed confidence. He looked down his nose at Mongolia. “You're still as dirty as always.”

“And you haven't changed either,” Mongolia said brightly. He didn't stand, though that would have been the polite thing to do, and instead waited for China to say something more.

“You know why I've come,” China said, though there was a bit of a wrinkle to his nose. Mongolia knew that was an act.

He sighed. China cycled through all the territories, at least the ones old enough for unifying practice. But Mongolia knew there was something different about the way he treated him; he'd seen him take Tibet without even a flicker of emotion in his face, without even a hint of pretending there was any semblance of a relationship.

Tibet. That made Mongolia feel a flicker of anger; Tibet was the only person that Mongolia had ever had feelings for. Yes, some nations he met were beautiful or handsome, but he'd been far too young in his conquering days for love-feelings, real love. He wanted Tibet to be here to take him, not China.

But he said, “Inside is too smoky. There's no one around for miles.”

“You can't be serious,” China said with a groan. But, nonetheless, he dropped down to Mongolia's level and began to undress him. It was almost businesslike. Almost. But then there was that hint of breath on his ear, that way China almost kissed him, the way he touched him when he didn't absolutely need to.

Naked on the steppes, while China retained all his clothes, Mongolia laid back and tried to think it was Tibet. He'd never been with Tibet, but he imagined the peaceful soul was gentle and kind. China's hands ghosted over his body, and with the current temperature, there wasn't much chance that Mongolia would sweat this time.

It hurt. It honestly did, even as China leaned over him and brushed his lips against his ear, murmuring, “None of the others are like you.”

But Mongolia had learned to detach himself, and so, he didn't immediately feel horror when he heard,

“Mongo?”

China froze. He pulled himself off of Mongolia abruptly, and a sort of cool horror went through Mongolia's body.

“Who,” China said, “Is this?”

Mongolia was quick to cover his own nakedness, spotting Canada staring at him with confusion on his face. “Just a normal child.”

“He is not,” China said sharply, rebukingly. “He is a nation. Where did you get him?”

Mongolia could feel heat in his cheeks, the shame that would normally not be there; perhaps it was because he had been seen. “His name's Canada,” he admitted, “I don't know where he's from. He just appeared.”

Canada eyed them both, unsurely looking at China in particular. He babbled a bit, looking over at Mongolia for reassurance.

“Well, you need to return him!” China snapped, “He must be Russia's. Give him back.”

“I don't think he's Russian,” Mongolia said, “But I really don't know. It's like he appeared out of nothing.”

China seemed to ponder this, then said in annoyance, “Get dressed. We have a headache to figure out.”

Mongolia complied. 

This would probably take a long time to sort out.


	6. Chapter 6

England was busy signing various documents, mostly relating to colonies. It was mercifully less busy than when he was at war, which seemed to be a near constant with this Europe. He could remember days when they mostly stayed among themselves, when he mostly fought his brothers (and France, always France) and knew nothing of the Orient or other such places.

He sighed. Soon enough, at least, he would be able to visit with little America. He quite liked the time spent with him, and ever since he had brought him to his house a decade ago, they had been quite close.

Granted, right now America was at Scotland’s, as he was much too loud to get work done around, but Scotland should be bringing him back within the hour.

England smiled to himself. America would surely have plenty to tell him about his adventures; he always did. The lad had shot up, and England seemed to recall that Scotland had marked his height on his doorway.

Well, in any case, that was the last document. England was surprised that it was done so quickly, but he shrugged. Why question a good thing? He walked out of the room and to America’s; it was a simple enough room, for fear that America would stain nice quilts and embroidered pictures. He put a hand on the doorway, a little surprised when he saw just how high the mark was. He smiled to himself once again. America was really growing, and fast. He’d outlapped Canada by far...

Canada. He smirked to himself once more. He knew the spell wouldn’t have placed Canada in a horrible place where he couldn’t survive. His magic simply didn’t do that at this point; he expected once he dug more into the dark magics, he could do more, but for now, no direct harm could be done.

Now France would be forced to do something for him, and that would be lovely. He could hardly expect to be ceded territories or the like, but he did daydream a little about what that would be like. Calais would be nice to have back. Or, perhaps, he could even wrest Haiti from France’s grip.

No, that was silly. Canada was not nearly that important. Perhaps Seychelles, then. Not as important a colony, in England’s eyes.

England walked into the room further, smiling a little at the made bed. America had protested his rules, including the making of his bed the instant he got up. He’d whined that he wanted to eat first, and that he often had to urinate (though he said piss, which was something that England would have to correct) that early in the morning.

It was not the best job, but it was neat enough. But America’s stuffed toy, a whale, was on the floor. England chuckled to himself, and set the toy on top of the smooth covers.

“Hey! I’m here!”

Scotland’s burr, loud as it was, made itself known. 

England might not have cared otherwise, but this time, he was somewhat excited. He headed down the stairs with a composed pace, saying, “Really, you’re practically late; America will be...”

Scotland stood before him, arms crossed. He had a scowl on his face, but didn’t say anything.

America was nowhere in sight.

England didn’t know what to make of this. “What, you great buffoon, you’ve lost him? Or is this some silly joke? You should know it isn’t funny and you’ve never had a good sense of humor.”

“Oh, sure.” Scotland rolled his eyes. “It’s no joke. Just make good with France, damnit.”

England’s jaw dropped. “You’re keeping America from me? You should know that you can’t—“

Scotland chuckled, mussing up England’s hair. “Ah, no. I’m gonna be blunt, cause you’re pretty damn dense: France has him, and will have him until you return Canada.”

England’s heart gave a sort of jerk; it quickly turned to rage. “How could you?! You great idiot, you damn bastard, what is fucking wrong with you?!” He swung a punch at Scotland, but Scotland dodged. They both knew he wasn’t strong enough to stop it.

“Just give the kid back, and it’ll be over.” Scotland turned and left.

England shouted obscenities at his back. France would pay for this; like hell the frog would offer America for Canada. It wasn’t a fair trade at all.

He ground his teeth. He would get America back, whatever it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, Canada was not important to the French, partially because it wasn't so profitable and also because much of French society found colonialism both immoral and not beneficial to France.
> 
> Haiti was very valuable, with the most resources and cash crops.


	7. Chapter 7

It seemed Canada was not as well-versed in Nation-speak as it had originally seemed. He kept begging for 'nounours' and 'lolo' and Mongolia had simply no idea what that meant.

So, about the fifth time Canada whimpered and begged for 'lolo', China had had enough. He'd sat up in the ger and snapped, “I am far beyond dealing with children, Mongolia. Do something about the little one.”

Mongolia roused himself from his half-awake state. It had been agreed that all three of them would head for the capital in the morning. More accurately, China had decided and Mongolia despaired of what would happen to his herds.

But he crawled over to Canada, who he'd wrapped up tight, and stroked his little head. “Are you messy, Canada? Do you need something?”

He couldn't make out the first bit of what Canada wanted, but it ended again with 'lolo.' He picked up Canada, holding him tightly, sure that this would give him a sense of security. “Hm. You don't smell messy,” he said, stroking the nape of his neck with his thumb.

It then hit him. Infants ate more often than adults, and Canada was probably pleading for food. He felt a bit stupid at this realization, but he shifted Canada to one arm, and headed for where he kept the milk.

It was hard to do it in the dark, but the glow of the fire in the middle of the ger helped him see. He got more milk in the bottle, then held it up to Canada's lips.

Canada gulped it down, then burped loudly.

Mongolia smiled, and rubbed his tummy. “Drank too fast, huh?”

More baby talk. Something to do with 'nounours.' Mongolia was startled to realize Canada was talking about him, if 'Mongo' was him.

He stroked back Canada's silky hair, and then kissed his forehead. He was already quite attached to Canada, he realized, as he laid him back down to bed. He felt a bit of regret that he probably wouldn't see him again once they returned him.

He settled back down in bed and shut his eyes.

That was when China's hand met his thigh. His eyes flew open, a sort of panic going through his mind. “What--?”

“We never finished,” China said, lifting himself so he was over Mongolia.

That wasn't fair. That wasn't how this was supposed to work, Mongolia's mind protested, his small illusions of control seeming to shred. “But we did. We already did it, and this is the night--”

“That didn't count,” China said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his unwilling lips. “Just hold still.”

Fear gripped Mongolia, but he laid still, screwing his eyes shut. This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to do this when Mongolia wasn't prepared, hadn't expected it for months...  
“Stop that. It's not a punishment,” China said, still very quiet.

“But Canada--” Mongolia said, however, China cut him off.

“He is sleeping. He won't even know.” China's hands were where he didn't want them, and Mongolia suppressed a whimper.

“I said stop that. I'm not punishing you, Mongolia, and you know that,” China said sternly, and then he was biting up his neck.

He must have made a noise, because China's hand clamped over his mouth. “Sh.”

It was intense discomfort for a moment, and then, horror.

“Mongo! Mongo, non! Nounours!” The tiny form of Canada was striking at China, screaming his anger at seeing his protector being hurt.

China abruptly got off him, and picked up Canada. “Little one, you must do as you're told and go to sleep!”

But Canada just screamed angrily, flailing his limbs. Mongolia wasn't sure how he'd gotten free of the tight wrapping he'd put him in, but it was true that Canada might've been stronger than a typical toddler.

Mongolia rescued Canada from China. “I'll sleep with him. Keep him quiet.”

China was probably frowning in the dark. But he said stiffly, “Fine. But don't think we don't still have a duty to perform.”

Mongolia curled up with Canada, who cuddled close, a tight, possessive hold on Mongolia.

He hoped that by morning, China would forget about his 'duty.'


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter! It should be fun to see where this one goes.

America was surprisingly acquiescent to the whole thing.

France watched as the practically teenage colony ate his food like it would disappear if he didn't eat it right then, right that second. America looked about like a twelve year old, having shot up in the past decade. France wondered if Canada would just shoot up next.

“Mmf, thif'f fo good!” America said, mouth absolutely full of pastries.

When Scotland had come to drop him off, and America had been sent out to the garden to look around, things got a bit.... heated.

He felt like he could still feel the spittle from passionately kissing Scotland, and every time he got a whiff of body odor, he could instantly imagine Scotland's tongue in his mouth. He'd remember the lovely way his big hands kneaded his back, the way that Scotland would pull him closer and he'd get that manly-and-burly scent from Scotland, like someone who worked hard all day.

He sighed, somewhere between happy and sad. “Yes, America, it is good.”

He'd almost forgotten how much he'd cared for Scotland.

America stood abruptly, saying, “We aren't going to cross ourselves, are we? Cause that's practically witchcraft.”

France laughed a little, saying, “No, America, you don't have to cross yourself.” He got a little melancholy, remembering how he'd so long been called the 'oldest child of the church,' and how so much had changed. He was the 'most Christian kingdom' too, back in the day.

He liked to think he passed on a little to Canada.

Holy god, he hoped that Canada was all right. He looked at America, and thought it must have been a thousand years ago that he himself was so bright-eyed and innocent. He could also see something of Canada in America, and he wished he could actually keep him. Keep them both, that is.

“America, I hope you know that this wasn't done to hurt you,” he said.

America just looked up, utterly confused. “What do you mean? This is fantastic!”

France laughed. He should've known that America would not be scared by being 'kidnapped.' It made sense that the colony would only see it as visiting his big brother France.

“So, uh, Scotland told me Canada's missing. Is he all right?” America asked, pausing between eating the food. He was still eying a pastry, clearly thinking of putting it in his mouth, but his brothe was also on his mind.

“Oh, he will be. He definitely will be,” France said, not adding, _or else England will have hell to pay_.

America just grinned. “Okay!” He dug in once again.

England would send some reply soon enough; he would not be stupid enough to come to this house. And when he did send reply, it had better be to return Canada. Or else... France wasn't entirely sure what he'd do; no harm would come to America. But perhaps he could threaten that harm would. That would teach that asshole.

America ate on obliviously, not knowing he was an important chess piece in this game.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> China and Mongolia start the long trip to take Canada back to a port city of the Chinese Empire.

Mongolia was not comfortable heading towards what China called 'civilization.' He'd been there once before, gotten comfortable in the silks and sweets. He knew it had only made him soft, easy to overthrow and altogether not who he truly was.

He also hated the hustle and bustle. The thought of so many people in one place, with no open spaces, made his head buzz, filled with the sound until he couldn't think. So as they saddled up their horses, and Mongolia mournfully wondered who would milk his poor animals, he was in a melancholy mood.

Canada had other thoughts, bundled onto the horse in more traditional Mongolian clothes for his age. This time, Mongola had wrapped him up below the waist, not sure what to do when he defecated, but knowing he couldn't have him peeing everywhere. He sincerely wished the child had had some decent parenting, but it seemed he was ill-taken care of.

China grumpily got on his horse. “Well? Let's go, then. We have somewhere to be.”

Mongolia clutched Canada tight to him, scared he'd fall off the horse. Canada had no horse-sense, no thought that not staying on the horse would hurt. And Mongolia had nothing to carry him in. So, he sat in front of Mongolia, clutching tightly with both arms while Mongolia directed the horse with his legs, a skill he had perfected ages ago.

He was scared for Canada. What if Canada was valuable? China might use him as leverage, and then what? To be traded back to a horrible parent-figure, or worse yet, given to someone new who just wanted the land?

He shuddered. He knew what it was like to be just another land to claim. He fulfilled that meager role in the Chinese empire for a long time.

“China?”

“Yes, Mongolia?”

“What will you do with Canada?” He was not eager to receive the answer, but he needed to know.

“Trade him back, of course. Can't think of much I'd even want from the barbarians, but I'm sure they'll figure something out,” he shrugged. He gave as little thought to Canada's future as Canada's 'owner' did, Mongolia assumed.

Mongolia held Canada tighter. Canada of course babbled at him. “Nounours, j'aime nounours, Papa, Papa aime nounours, nounours aime lolo...”

It seemed he really liked this word 'aime', whatever it meant. And of course, the mysterious 'nounours' which seemed to be something he loved.

Still, Mongolia's heart ached for the little territory. He didn't want bad things to happen to him, and slowly, a plan started subconsciously in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Canada's saying, 'Teddy, I love teddy, Papa, Papa loves teddy, teddy loves milk...'
> 
> He's talking Kumajirou, of course. I apologize for my poor French; I am still learning it. Nounours is baby talk, as bear is un ours, so the baby hears nounours, and lolo is baby talk for milk, as milk in French is lait, or le lait.


End file.
